


The Last Masquerade

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assistant Groom Clint, Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, Nobleman Bucky, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - background pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Every midsummer, Prince Tony throws a masquerade ball and every year, Clint dresses up in stolen finery, puts on a mask, and spends the night pretending to be a nobleman just so he can spend a few precious hours with the fascinating man in the wolf mask. It's the best part of his life, the thing that makes everything else worthwhile.This year is going to be their last masquerade.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 86
Kudos: 660





	The Last Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Villainny (Nny)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/gifts).

> Title from an anon on Tumblr as part of a meme. 
> 
> Written for Nny's birthday, because she's lovely and deserves everything. I tried to keep the comma use down to a minimum, I promise.

The farmer grudgingly gave Clint a couple of coins after he’d helped him unload his cart and Clint couldn't keep in a wide grin that was definitely more than the amount warranted. After a year of saving up, that was the last tiny bit he needed.

"Thank you!" he managed before ducking away through the market crowd, half-jogging even though there was plenty of time before the tailor's shop shut.

He took a moment to pause when he got there to run his eyes over the display of ties and cravats that filled the window. Yeah, definitely the purple one. He didn't care what Natasha said about the blue one bringing out his eyes, purple was just the best.

He went into the shop and gave the tailor a wide grin, then turned it on the boy in the corner who he assumed was an apprentice. "Good afternoon."

The tailor ran his eyes over Clint, taking in his rough clothes and the mud flaking off his boots. He looked like he was contemplating whether he should call the guard or just throw Clint out into the street himself, so Clint stepped in quickly.

"My master asked me to pick up a cravat for him," he said. "The purple one in the window. He came past last night after you were shut and took a liking to it." 

A complete lie, but one that made the tailor relax. He flicked his eyes at the apprentice, who went over to the window to pick up the cravat.

"Of course," he said, opening a ledger and picking up a pen. "And who is your master? Does he already have an account with us?"

"Nope," said Clint, trying not to bounce with excitement. "He gave me the money." He pulled out his purse, filled with every penny he had been able to save from his wages or by taking on extra jobs on his day off. It seemed ridiculous that a cravat should cost so much but it was made of silk and embroidered in gold thread, and was perfect for the outfit he kept carefully wrapped up to be used once a year. His old cravat had become rather worn after eight years and, besides, had been torn by overly-enthusiastic hands last year.

"I see," said the tailor, frowning as if he thought anyone trusting Clint with a purse of money was making a grave error. He took it though, carefully counting out the coins as the apprentice wrapped the cravat for Clint.

The purse was empty when it was returned but it came with the cravat so Clint beamed at both tailor and apprentice before he left the shop, heading back to Sir Fury’s property, and the small room above the stables where Clint lived.

He’d started out as the stableboy there nearly ten years ago and in that time had only made it as far as assistant groom. As they hadn't employed a new stableboy, all that meant was a new title while he still spent most of his time shovelling shit. He loved the horses, and he loved the dogs who hung around the stables even more, but if he hadn’t had the promise of one perfect night a year then he wasn’t sure he’d have lasted. He’d have given up on the constant backbreaking work and disappeared to the woods to join his brother’s bandit band or something equally as drastic.

Instead, he had the princes’ Midsummer Masquerade and the chance to spend an evening in the company of the most attractive, fascinating man he’d ever met. It might not have seemed like much but it was enough to keep him in the city, to get him to spend most of a year scraping together coins to buy a cravat he’d only wear a handful of times. 

Prince Tony had started holding an annual ball years ago but it had only been when he’d married Prince Steve that it had stopped being invitation only. Now anyone could attend as long as they were dressed correctly. Of course, the cost of an outfit suitable for a ball at the royal palace meant that most of the population still weren’t able to come but it did mean that if, say, you had a light-fingered friend who thought you needed cheering up, they could steal you an outfit and take you along. 

Eight years ago, Clint had been miserable, both because Barney had left him and because he was beginning to realise that all his childish dreams of getting out of a life of drudgery if he just believed hard enough were just that: dreams. He’d never found out where Natasha had got them each an outfit suitable for the ball, but he hadn’t asked either. He hadn’t been in much of a mood to and then, after that first miraculous evening at the palace, he hadn’t wanted to.

Natasha was waiting for him back at the stables when Clint arrived. “You’re a mess,” she said, looking over his sweat-stained clothes and the mud from the market.

Clint grinned at her and held up his package. “Managed to get a new cravat!”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I could have got you one months ago, don’t you?”

“Stolen one,” Clint corrected. “I told you, I want to do this honestly.”

“The rest of it is stolen,” Natasha pointed out.

Clint shrugged. “I paid for the stockings as well,” he reminded her. That had been last year’s purchase. There was no way he could afford to replace the big parts of his outfit but he also didn’t want to feel like he hadn’t at least tried to earn this.

It was bad enough that he was pretending to be someone else to Wolf, he didn’t want everything about him to be fake. When Wolf saw him later, he’d see the cravat and think Clint had bought it for himself, and he’d be right.

Even if he also thought Clint was gentry or some minor noble who travelled to the city each year just for the ball and then left immediately afterwards. Clint presumed that was what he thought; they'd never discussed it. 

“You need to bathe,” said Natasha. She glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky. “Meet me at the usual place, and don’t be late.”

“I’m never late,” said Clint. She gave him an unconvinced look. “Fine, I’m never late for this,” he amended. “You know that.”

Her face softened and she sighed. “I do know that,” she agreed. “Clint…” she trailed off and shook her head. “You should tell him,” she said, but Clint could tell from the tone of her voice that she knew it was wasted breath.

“Nope,” said Clint, because they’d had this argument too many times for him to count over the years. “No way.”

Unlike Clint, Wolf wore a different outfit each year, only keeping his mask the same: a silver wolf face that only left his mouth uncovered and shone against the dark colour of his hair. More than that, he knew all the dances, ate the food as if he didn’t notice how fantastic it was, and Clint hadn’t even once caught him staring at the gold or jewels that were on show in the costumes of the wealthier guests. He also knew the palace well enough to sneak Clint off to all kinds of secret corners over the years, which made Clint think he either lived there or visited often enough to feel completely at home.

There was no way a man as high up the social ladder as that would be happy to find out that the man he’d been having annual trysts with was nothing more than an assistant groom.

Natasha sighed, but didn’t push it. “Have a bath, you stink,” she said, and left him to it.

****

By the time they met again, Clint had bathed himself in cold water in the old tin bath they kept in the tack room, ignoring his shivers to dunk his head underwater and make sure every part of him was scrubbed clean. He’d pulled the box out from under the floorboard in his room and carefully unpacked the expensive clothes within, checking them over before putting them on to make sure there was nothing that screamed out that he was an imposter. He left his old cravat in the box and looped the new one around his neck instead.

The only thing he didn’t put on was the mask, which he kept dangled in his hand as he crept out of the stables, sticking to the shadows so that no one would see him.

He was early to the meeting place but Natasha was already waiting. She took one look at him and sighed, stepping close to untie and redo his cravat. 

“There’s straw in your hair,” she said and Clint’s hands immediately went to knock it off, only to find nothing there.

He scowled at her. “Not funny.”

She grinned back. “Kinda funny,” she amended, then gave him a look over. “You’re looking fine.”

“Fine?” repeated Clint. “I was hoping for better than fine.” Now he was so close to seeing him again, he was beginning to panic that Wolf would have got bored of their weird relationship in the last year, or found someone else or, god, he might even have got married. Clint had no idea who he was, he might have seen the wedding announcement and not even realised. What if this had all been for nothing, and Wolf wouldn’t be there, or would spend the evening dancing with someone else, or…

“Stop panicking,” said Natasha firmly. Clint automatically took a deep breath at her tone, because he’d heard it often enough over the years for it to calm him instantly. “Let’s go and find your man.”

“I’m not sure he counts as _mine_ when it’s one night a year,” muttered Clint, but he followed her through the streets to the palace gates, anticipation rising in his stomach until he thought he was going to be sick.

This was the worst part, every year, just before he saw him again. As soon as they were together everything else fell away and the rest of the year was just anticipation, but these few minutes, when he was lost in all the stupid fears he couldn’t control while Natasha guided him past the palace guards and the other guests arriving, were the worst.

She nudged him in the side as they got to the second gate. “Mask,” she said, pulling her own on. She was a swan tonight, all in black and with a mask that glinted with jet beads. Clint had given up trying to work out how she got hold of these things.

Clint pulled on his own mask, a brown eyemask highlighted with gold to look like a hawk’s features, and took a deep breath. This was it, he wasn’t Clint Barton, lowly servant, any longer. For the next few hours, he was the guy that Wolf kept coming back to, year after year, for whatever reason.

He and Natasha strode past the guards as if it hadn’t even crossed their minds that they might be stopped, then headed inside to the main ballroom. It was all lit up, decorated with flowers and golden suns and starting to fill up with the upper echelons of society, but Clint didn’t spare a glance at any of it. He was too busy looking around for the shine of a silver wolf’s mask.

“He’s not here,” he said, and reached out to grab Natasha’s arm. “Nat, he’s not here.”

Natasha let out a sigh and shook him off. “Perhaps you should wait longer than five seconds before deciding that?”

Clint’s heart plummeted through his stomach. What the hell was he going to do if Wolf didn’t show up? What if last year had been the last time? Shit, Clint had nothing else in his life worth looking forward to, just years of shovelling horse shit until he was too old for it, then hoping he’d have saved up enough not to end up starving on the streets.

Which he wasn’t going to do if he kept spending all his money on cravats. Shit.

“Hawk,” said a familiar, amused voice, and Clint whirled around to see Wolf there, holding two glasses and wearing a well-fitted black tunic that drew the eyes to the fine lines of his body. “Would you like a drink?”

Clint didn’t spare a glance for the glasses. “Wolf,” he said with relief. “You’re here.”

Wolf smiled. “I’m here every year,” he said, and held out one of the glasses. Clint took it automatically, still gazing at Wolf’s face. God, he’d missed him so much, missed the way his lips curved when he smirked and his steel-blue eyes contrasted with the silver of his mask. “You’re the one I always have to wait for.”

“We get in as early as we can,” Clint pointed out.

Wolf stepped closer to him, resting his hand on Clint’s waist. Clint slipped his arm around Wolf’s back in response, ignoring the hard edges of the knives Wolf always had hidden on him with ease. “It’s never early enough.”

Natasha cleared her throat. “I take it that’s my cue to leave you to it.”

“Yeah,” said Clint without looking away from Wolf’s eyes. “Have a good evening.”

“I will. Not as good as you, of course,” she said, then swept away. Clint didn’t watch her go.

“Am I going to have a good night?” he asked Wolf in a low murmur, because he liked to give as good as he got when it came to flirting.

“Of course,” said Wolf. His eyes swept over Clint again, lingering on his neck. “I like your new cravat.”

Clint shrugged. “Someone ripped the last one,” he said pointedly.

Wolf just grinned, looking far smugger than he should be about property damage. “This one suits you better,” he said.

Clint allowed his grin to grow smug as well. He’d known he was making the right choice.

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear the old one anyway, in case I didn’t recognise you without it,” added Wolf. “You know you could change your whole outfit, right? As long as you keep the mask, I’ll recognise you.” He regarded Clint for a moment. “Actually, I think I’d probably recognise you even with a different one.”

Clint shrugged. “I can’t risk it,” he said, because as long as Wolf thought he was just really paranoid about not being recognisable, he wasn’t going to realise that this was the only outfit Clint had. “What if you ended up with some other tall blond? I mean, Prince Steve is a tall blond. Things could get very awkward.”

Wolf snorted. “I think I’d recognise the prince,” he said dryly, “just as well I recognise you.” He pulled his arm free of Clint’s waist in order to hold his hand out to him, who took it without even thinking about it. “Shall we start by dancing?”

Clint tightened his grip on Wolf’s hand, enjoying the touch of his warm skin after a year without it. “No dancing until the princes get here,” he reminded Wolf.

“They won’t be long,” he said with complete confidence. “The orchestra should be starting up right about…” A flurry of trumpets interrupted him before he could say, ‘now’, and he gave Clint a smug grin instead. Clint just rolled his eyes and turned to watch Prince Tony and Prince Steve sweep in, arm-in-arm.

Prince Tony always wore a different mask but as they were all red and gold and left most of his face on view, Clint wasn’t sure why he bothered. Prince Steve was in dark blue and grey this year, his mask tinted with silver to match his crown.

They paused on the small platform until the fanfare was done, then Prince Tony started on his usual speech, welcoming them all and talking some rubbish about opening his doors to the whole kingdom, as if the only parts of the kingdom that mattered where the parts that could afford evening dress.

To most of the people in this room, they probably were.

Wolf slipped an arm around Clint’s waist as the speech went on, and Clint moved in to press against him, wriggling slightly as one of the concealed knives dug into his ribs. “I swear this bit gets longer every year,” he muttered. 

Wolf snorted. “Maybe you should write a strongly worded letter with some feedback,” he said quietly into Clint’s ear. 

Clint had never learnt how to write. He bit at the inside of his mouth so he wouldn’t think about what Wolf might think about that, then added, “Maybe I'll just bring sleeping darts next year,” he said. “I bet I could hit him from here.”

“I’m not sure poisoning the prince would be the best way to get the dancing to start earlier,” said Wolf. They were pressed so close now that they’d actually have to separate to start dancing and Clint was considering which of the many spots Wolf had whisked him away to over the years so they could have some privacy might be best tonight.

“True,” said Clint. “And I’d probably only end up getting gutted by the Winter Soldier. Hey, do you think he comes to these things, or just lurks in the shadows?”

Wolf stiffened next to him. “Who?” he asked, as if he’d never heard the nickname everyone in the country used when they whispered about the things the Soldier had done to protect the crown.

Clint rolled his eyes. “You know who,” he said. “Sir Barnes, the princes’ assassin.”

Wolf cleared his throat. “Sir Barnes isn’t an assassin, he’s Prince Steve’s confidante.”

“Oh sure,” said Clint. “He confidentially stabs people. C’mon, that’s got to be the worst kept secret in the land. Everyone knows what he did to Pierce.”

Not that Pierce hadn’t deserved it, if the rumours were all true. In fact, if pushed on it, Clint would probably have said that Sir Barnes had been completely in the right and maybe hadn’t even gone far enough.

Prince Tony had finally finished speaking and the orchestra started the opening number. Prince Tony led Prince Steve down to the dance floor for the opening of the ball and Clint reached out to take Wolf’s hand in anticipation of the moment when other couples would start joining them. He hadn’t quite worked out if there was a secret signal or a set amount of time, or a certain point in the music maybe, that meant all the real nobility knew when the awkward first part where they all stared at the princes making eyes at each other as they danced was over. Mostly, he waited until Wolf pulled him onto the dancefloor.

“Pierce died of an aneurysm,” muttered Wolf, but he didn’t sound for a second like he believed it. 

“Sure he did,” said Clint, turning to grin at him. He was taken aback by the look on his face because he’d thought they were just talking shit until they could start dancing but there was something sad and pained in Wolf’s eyes. “Hey,” said Clint softly, reaching out to cup Wolf’s jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Wolf, then he clenched his jaw, clearly aware how obvious it was from his tone that something was very wrong. Around them, people were starting to flock to the dancefloor but Clint stayed where he was, frowning at Wolf.

Wolf sighed. “I wasn’t going to mention this until later,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to ruin the whole night.” He cleared his throat, then gave Clint a resolute look. “This is going to be my last time at the Midsummer Masquerade. Our last one together.”

Clint let his hand drop from Wolf’s face as ice ran through him. “No,” he said. “That can’t be true.”

Wolf nodded. “I’m leaving the country,” he said. “And I won’t ever be back.”

Clint felt like he’d been gutted. He drew in a breath, and then another one. “Oh,” he said softly, and he couldn’t keep his misery out of it.

Wolf cupped his hand around Clint’s neck, nestling against the cravat Clint had spent such a lot of money on. He wondered if he could get a refund if he took it back tomorrow, now he wouldn't need it for next year. 

“I’m sorry,” Wolf said, and he sounded just as heartbroken as Clint was. “I can’t stay.”

Clint stared at the sorrow in his eyes and took a deep breath. “If this is our last night, I suppose we better make the most of it,” he said, and took Wolf’s hand to tug him onto the dancefloor.

And after that, he’d have to find something else worth living for. 

God, what else was there if he never again felt the strength of Wolf’s arms around him, or the light way he led Clint across the dancefloor despite his obvious strength?

The first time they’d danced, the very first time they’d met, Clint hadn’t had a clue what he was doing. Wolf had found him by the buffet table, merrily stuffing himself with all the fancy foods he’d never seen before, and had awkwardly hovered until Clint had been afraid he’d been caught and was about to be asked to leave.

“Can I help you?” he’d asked, maybe with more of a snap in his voice than was really necessary.

Wolf had shrugged, looking even more uncertain. “I was going to ask if you wanted to dance, but you seemed so focused I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Clint had been holding a small pastry thing that tasted of pure deliciousness in one hand, and some sort of mini meat skewer in the other. He’d refused to feel self-conscious about it. “I don’t know how to dance,” he'd said with a shrug, and stuffed the pastry thing in his mouth.

Wolf had raised an eyebrow. “If you’re going to keep eating at that rate, you’ll need to learn, or you’ll end up the size of Lord Pembroke,” he’d said and, after a hesitation, had held out his hand. “Please allow me to teach you.”

Clint had almost said no and gone back to the buffet. Sometimes he thought about how close he’d come to never knowing Wolf and it felt like the worst fate he could imagine. Instead, he’d finished off the meat skewer and put his hand in Wolf’s, and the rest had been history.

And now, eight years on, he was a half-decent dancer, especially after he’d nagged Natasha into giving him some lessons. He never quite managed it as well as when he was in Wolf’s arms though, gliding around the dance floor as if it were a place he should be at home, rather than curled up in the stables listening to the horses fall asleep.

He wondered if he’d ever get to use these skills again if Wolf wasn’t going to be around, and then forcibly put the thought of his mind. There’d be plenty of time to mope about this later. For now, he was going to let Wolf spin him around the dancefloor, his hand pressed against the small of his back, just above his concealed weaponry.

****

They danced for a while, Wolf doing his best to show Clint some of the newer dances while Clint occasionally stepped on his toe, both of them sniggering and attracting disapproving stares.

“That’s enough,” said Clint as the orchestra finished one tune and prepared to start another one. “C’mon, Wolf, time for a breather.”

“Time to eat half the buffet table, you mean,” said Wolf, giving Clint that smirk again, the one that always made him want to kiss him, propriety be damned.

He slipped a hand around Wolf’s waist instead, letting it slide down to graze over his ass. “You know me too well,” he said. “Man, I hope they have those pastry things.”

“They always have those pastry things,” said Wolf as they headed towards the buffet table.

“Not true, there was that one year,” said Clint, because the moment he’d happily advanced on the buffet table only to find it lacking was imprinted on his memory for all time.

“True,” said Wolf. “But they’ve been here every other year. I think the princes are rather settled on them being a feature. They’ll be here for a good few years to come.”

Clint let his eyes sweep over the buffet table, taking in the glories and lingering on the multiple stacked plates of his favourite pastries. “Doesn’t matter after tonight,” he said, picking up a plate and starting to fill it. “I won’t be here.”

Wolf frowned. “Why not?”

Clint pulled his eyes away from trying to gauge the contents of some tiny bite-sized pies to look at him. “If you won’t be here, why would I bother coming?”

Wolf looked completely taken aback, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “The pastries will still be here,” he pointed out. “And the rest of it. Food, drinks, dancing. You and your friend can still attend.”

Clint shook his head, turning back to the table. “Without you here, it will just serve to highlight your absence.”

He wondered if he was being too upfront about how much Wolf meant to him, but it wasn’t as if it mattered now. If this was their last time together, it didn’t matter if Clint revealed too much of his heart and scared Wolf off.

Besides, their nights together at these balls had become increasingly emotional. Last year Wolf had taken him to a curtained alcove in a little-used library and they’d kissed for hours, slowly and tenderly, until dawn had touched the horizon and Clint had had to go. Wolf had clung to him before he’d let him leave, pressing his face into Clint’s neck, then pulled aside his cravat with a sudden move that had torn it and sucked a deep mark into his neck. 

“So you’ll have something to remember me,” he’d whispered, then run his tongue over it.

Clint had nearly come there and then. In the days that had followed, he’d traced over the bruise dozens, possibly hundreds of times, until it had faded and all that was left was waiting for their next night together. This night.

Which was going to be their last night.

Wolf looked miserable for a moment, then resolute. “Then we definitely need to make the most of it,” he said. He glanced out the windows at the star-scattered sky. “It’s a warm night.”

“It’s midsummer,” agreed Clint. “It’s sort of the point?”

Wolf rolled his eyes at him. “Did you bring a cloak?”

Clint stared at him for a moment. “It’s midsummer,” he repeated, slightly slower, rather than reveal that he didn’t have a cloak anywhere near fine enough to wear here. He supposed he was lucky these balls happened in the summer and not the winter, when he would have had to have had so many more layers of expensive finery.

But then, Natasha would just have stolen those for him as well. Sometimes he wondered what he’d done to deserve a friend like her.

Wolf rolled his eyes at him. “Fill two plates,” he said. “Lots of those pastry things, and I like the-”

“-the crispy vegetable stick things,” finished Clint. “I know. Where are you going?”

Wolf smirked. “You’ll see,” he said. “Meet me on the balcony.”

He disappeared into the crowd and Clint took a moment to watch him go, enjoying the sight of his ass in those tight breeches. It still seemed so unreal that a man that sexy could be interested in Clint.

Clint turned back to the buffet once Wolf was out of sight and loaded up two plates with enough food to garner disapproving looks, but Clint wasn’t interested in the opinions of rich assholes who hadn’t gone hungry a day in their lives and who didn’t have a sexy masked man waiting for them on the balcony.

Well, probably didn’t. Clint didn’t kid himself that he and Wolf were the only ones using the anonymity of masks to engage in an illicit affair.

When he headed out to the balcony, carefully balancing both plates and wishing he’d been able to crowd another couple of pastries on, Wolf was already waiting. He had a large black cloak over one arm, and a bottle and two glasses in his hands. Clint grinned at him.

“Come on, this way,” said Wolf, leading Clint down the steps into the garden.

The section of the garden next to the ballroom was formally laid out with little hedges and low stone benches. It was decorated for the evening with lanterns so that courting couples could moon at each other. Clint and Wolf had spent several evenings out there in the past.

Wolf didn’t stop at any of the benches, though. He stole one of the lanterns, then led Clint out of the formal garden, through a walled rose garden, across a wide tree-lined boulevard, and across a small lawn to an orchard. 

It was completely deserted and would have been pitch black without the lantern Wolf had taken. He set it down on the grass, then flicked out the cloak, laying it down like a picnic blanket before gesturing to it with a low bow to Clint. “If Sir would care to be seated.”

Clint laughed and sat down, carefully balancing the plates before setting them down on the cloak. “You don’t want to be interrupted this time, then?”

Wolf huffed a sigh. “Those guards weren’t meant to come through for another hour,” he muttered. He sat down on the cloak, then squinted at Clint and shook his head. “No good, need more light.” He stood up as Clint rolled his eyes.

“This is fine. We can sort of see the food, right?”

“I can’t see your eyes,” said Wolf. “I’m not spending our last night not able to enjoy how blue they are. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He disappeared while Clint was still reeling from the casual way he’d said that, gliding into the shadows as silently as if he were truly a wolf.

Clint took a deep breath, told himself for the thousandth time since he’d first met Wolf not to question exactly what he saw in him and just enjoy the moment, then ate a pastry. God, those things were so good.

When Wolf came back, he had another three lanterns and a grin of satisfaction.

“Someone’s going to complain about the formal garden not being fully lit,” said Clint as Wolf set the lanterns around the cloak. It was much better with them, now Clint could see the curve of Wolf’s jawline and the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled.

“That sounds like somebody else’s problem,” he said, and reached out for one of the crispy vegetable sticks. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Affection was warm in his eyes and Clint couldn’t help grinning back at him, probably looking foolishly smitten. “Yeah,” he agreed, then cleared his throat and added, “Well, except that the glasses are still empty.”

Wolf laughed and turned to pick up the bottle. “Let me remedy that for you.”

He opened the bottle and poured glasses for them both, then they sat and ate until even Clint couldn’t fit another pastry in, talking and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. The ticking deadline on their time together loomed large in Clint’s mind, even if he tried to ignore it, and he let himself take all the little chances he usually hesitated over, not just to touch and flirt, but also to mention how much he treasured these stolen evenings, how beautiful he thought Wolf was even with the mask hiding most of his face, and how much he enjoyed hearing him laugh.

Once the plates were set aside, he moved in closer to Wolf, settling an arm around his waist and kissing him softly. “How long can we make this night last?” he asked, softly.

“As long as possible,” said Wolf in a low voice, then wrapped an arm around him and tumbled him backwards onto the cloak, leaning in to kiss him as he pressed their bodies together.

The cloak was thick and soft with a fur-lined collar and served well as cushioning for them to lie on as they embraced each other. Clint didn’t want to think about how much it had cost and how many years’ wages it would have taken him to buy it while Wolf was so casual with it, not caring about mud and grass as he pushed Clint down against the ground. He couldn’t seem to stop kissing for a moment, hands running up from Clint’s waist to his chest.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he whispered.

Clint had his arms wrapped around him already, but he tightened them at the loss in Wolf’s voice. “You could take me with you,” he joked. “Or we could run away together. Live in the woods and just do this all day every day.”

Wolf looked torn even though it hadn’t been a serious suggestion, then shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, sounding so sad that Clint had to lean up to kiss him again. “God, Hawk, I can’t. You don’t- It’s not meant to be.”

Clint didn’t want to get into a talk about what was and wasn’t meant to be, because he was painfully aware that the only thing that was meant for him was a lifetime of looking after someone else’s horses, so he pulled Wolf down and kissed him again. 

The first time they’d kissed had been their very first night together, after a few hours of dancing and few more of sitting together at a couch in the corner, talking and laughing about the other guests while Clint found himself moving closer and closer to Wolf until there were only inches between them.

When Natasha had come to find him to tell him it was time to leave, Wolf had looked betrayed for a moment, until Clint had introduced Natasha as his friend.

He hadn’t given her name, of course, not even one of the fake ones she used. Even then, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Wolf by letting him find out the truth.

“Will I see you again?” Wolf had asked. “Prince Steve’s birthday gala is next month.”

For a wild moment, Clint had tried to imagine some way to gatecrash that, but without an invitation it didn’t matter what he and Natasha were wearing. The guards wouldn’t let them in. Besides, it wouldn’t be a masquerade, and he needed the anonymity that his mask give him.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said, casting around for the kind of excuse a minor lord or landowner would use. “I won’t be in town.”

“Not until next year,” Natasha had said, and Clint had stared at her because he’d thought this evening was a one-off. She’d stared back at him from behind the ruby red mask she’d been wearing that night. “We’ll be back in town for next year’s masquerade.”

Wolf had set a hand on Clint’s shoulder and pulled him around to face him. “Then I’ll see you then,” he’d said in a low murmur, and only hesitated a second before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Clint’s lips.

It hadn’t stayed very gentle once Clint had realised what was happening, and Natasha had had to pointedly mention the time before they’d pulled apart and Clint had left with her.

Kissing in masks was a tricky business and back then they’d clashed and had to realign themselves more than once. The next year, when Clint had arrived barely letting himself hope that Wolf would even be there, let alone remember him, had been when they’d really taken the time to learn how to make it work.

Now, they were old hands at it, at turning their faces just so and angling their mouths so that the nose of Wolf’s mask didn’t catch on the bottom of Clint’s. Clint ran his hand through Wolf’s thick dark hair, but stopped short of pulling on the ribbon holding his mask on.

Sometimes he was tempted to just rip the damn things off, but he couldn’t help fearing that there was something about his face that would immediately give away that he was a peasant. Wolf never mentioned it either, although Clint knew he found the masks just as frustrating as Clint did. Clint had absolutely no desire to press Wolf for more than he was willing to give. If he didn’t want Clint to see his face, Clint wouldn’t ever push for it, or even for the reason why. It wasn’t as if he wanted Wolf to ask him questions in return, after all.

“You’re so beautiful,” muttered Wolf, and he moved to kiss the edge of Clint’s jaw, then the line of his neck. “Can I-?”

“Whatever you want,” said Clint breathlessly, then made a split-second decision and pressed his hips up against Wolf’s. “Anything you want,” he added, because if this was their last night together, he wanted it all.

Wolf pulled away to stare at him, eyes glinting in the lantern-light. “Hawk,” he said, in a low breathless voice that made Clint wanted to press up against him again. “Do you really want...?”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “If you do.”

They hadn’t gone beyond passionate kissing in previous years, hands ranging over the top of clothing rather than pulling it aside. One reason for that had been that, no matter how carefully Wolf tucked them away in a hidden corner, there was always the fear of being walked in on. The other reason was that neither of them wanted to push when there were so many secrets between them.

Screw that. Clint didn’t care about secrets right now, he only cared about taking every chance he had before he never saw Wolf again.

Wolf made a low noise like a growl, then dropped his head to kiss him again, hot and passionate. “Of course I want,” he muttered, trailing his mouth back down Clint’s neck. “Want so much, want all of you.” 

He pulled on Clint’s cravat to bare his neck and Clint was almost too turned on to gasp, “Don’t tear this one!”

Wolf snorted, but did take more care loosening it, unbuttoning the collar of Clint’s shirt as well. “I want to take you apart,” he said, softly. “I want to give you everything, all the things I’ve imagined over the years.”

“Go for it,” said Clint, running his hands over the strong lines of Wolf’s back and pressing his hips up again to feel the line of his cock pressing into his thigh. “You can have it all.” He took a firm hold on Wolf’s ass, just like he’d been wanting to do for years. “As long as I get to do some of the stuff I’ve been imagining too.”

Wolf grinned at him. “I am definitely not the kind of idiot who’d say no to that,” he said, and leaned in for another hot and heavy kiss.

****

Hours passed. They both ended up entirely naked except for their masks, clothes discarded around them as they moved together, urgent and desperate the first time and then slow and languid the second, taking the time to map each other’s bodies and eke out every moment of pleasure that they could.

They dozed for a while after that, wrapped in the cloak with their bodies pressed together and their limbs tangled. When Clint woke up, the lanterns had burned down and the sky was tinged with the grey of dawn.

Dread plummeted into his stomach. “Wolf,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss his cheek below his mask. “Wolf, wake up.”

Wolf’s eyes flickered open and he glanced up at the sky, then a look of total loss crossed his face.

“Yeah, I know,” said Clint. “Why can’t we stay here forever?”

“Because I don’t deserve that,” muttered Wolf, then leaned in to kiss Clint before he could comment on that.

Clint needed to get back home before the groom woke up so he could get changed and present himself as if he'd used his day off in a completely normal way, and not at all getting fucked by a nobleman in the place's orchard, but Wolf was right there, naked body pressed against his. Once they parted, Clint would never see him again. Holding on for another few minutes was more than worth being told off by the groom for staying out all night.

Wolf let out a sigh and dipped his head to press his forehead to Clint's shoulder. Clint stroked over his hair, feeling just how soft it was.

"There's really no way you'll ever be back?" he asked. "I can wait."

Wolf lifted his head. "Don't wait," he said in a fierce tone. "You've already wasted eight years on me, don't wait any longer."

"Nothing about this has been a waste," said Clint and leaned up to kiss him, soft and gentle like Wolf didn't seem to think he deserved. 

Wolf just looked at him for a long moment, eyes darting over the parts of Clint's face that he could see.

"Hawk," he said, and his voice broke in the middle of the word. "Fuck," he muttered, and sat up, pressing his fingers through the eye holes of his mask to cover his eyes.

Clint sat up, ignoring the cold morning air pressing against his skin as the cloak fell away. "Hey," he said, putting a hand on Wolf's shoulder and then stalling, because what the hell could he say to make this better?

Wolf took a deep breath that made the firm muscles of his chest heave in a way that distracted Clint's eyes. "I have to go," he said, and reached for his breeches.

"Me too," said Clint tiredly. He wondered if Natasha had got home last night, and hoped she hadn't wasted any time looking for him.

He couldn't bring himself to move though, instead watching as Wolf dressed, covering up all the skin that Clint had explored last night.

Eventually he sat up and reached for his own clothes, pulling on breeches that had been soaked with dew. He really hoped that didn't damage the fabric at all, and then realised it didn't matter. He wasn't going to need his finery after this.

He picked up his shirt and stood to put it on, but didn't get any further because Wolf set a warm hand on his stomach, halting his movements. 

"You're so hot," he said, eyes darting over Clint's body. He was already dressed, with the cloak slung over his arm. "I can't believe how many pastries you can eat and still be so toned."

Clint managed a half smile but didn't say anything, because how could he explain that he only ate like that once a year and the rest of the time he worked from from sun up to sun down?

“Hawk,” said Wolf again and leaned up to kiss him, soft enough for Clint to feel how tightly he was holding himself back. “I wish-” he cut himself off and shook his head without finishing the sentence.

“I wish too,” said Clint, cupping his hand around Wolf’s neck. “God, I wish so much.”

“We can’t have any of it,” said Wolf miserably. 

Clint wanted to tell him that he was wrong but he was all too sickeningly aware that if Wolf ever found out who he really was, which was an important precursor to almost everything Clint wished for, Wolf wouldn’t want any of it any more. What kind of noble wanted to be in love with an assistant groom, after all?

Wolf traced a finger over Clint’s lips then took a breath. “Except, there is one thing I wish that you could give me, if you wanted,” he said. “I wish I could see your face. Just once.”

Clint blinked at him with surprise because neither of them had ever so much as mentioned that they could take the masks off.

Wolf must have thought his pause was hesitation, because he added, in a rush. “I don’t know you,” he said. “I’ve never met you. I’d have recognised you if I had, even if just from your eyes. You don’t need to worry that I’ll know your identity, and I won’t ask for your name. Just, please. I want to see you.”

When Wolf looked at him like that, with such desperation, there was no way Clint could deny him. He reached up and slipped the mask off, blinking at Wolf as he dropped it to the grass.

Somehow, he felt far more naked than he had when they’d been wrapped together in only Wolf’s cloak. 

“Hi,” he said, with a dry throat.

Wolf just stared for a moment, eyes darting to take in all of Clint’s face while he tried not to feel self-conscious under the scrutiny.

“Oh,” breathed Wolf. “You’re even more handsome than I imagined.”

He leaned in and kissed Clint again, clasping his face in his hands and rubbing his thumbs over Clint’s cheekbones.

Clint fell into the kiss, clasping at Wolf’s shoulders to keep him close. There had to be some way to cling on to him tightly enough to keep him with Clint for all the time, rather than letting him slip through his fingers, off to whatever other land was calling him away.

God, how was this the last time he’d ever see him?

“Thank you,” breathed Wolf when he pulled away, and Clint could see that his eyes were wet behind his mask. “Hawk, thank you. For everything.”

He kissed Clint again, then took a step back, gave him one last miserable look, then turned and headed off, striding through the orchard and leaving Clint behind.

“Hey, wait a sec!” called Clint, but Wolf didn’t pause, disappearing through a gate while Clint was still struggling with his shirt, trying to pull it on because there was no way he was running around the royal palace half-naked.

Damn it, he hadn’t been ready to say goodbye.

****

The sun was already half up by the time Clint had got himself dressed, and he was definitely going to be in trouble when he got back to the stables. He found it hard to care about that right now.

He left the lanterns, plates and glasses neatly stacked on a bench, feeling vaguely guilty about just abandoning them for some poor servant to have to deal with, but he figured there was clearing up to be done all over the palace in the wake of the masquerade. One more bit wasn’t going to make much difference.

He hadn’t been in this part of the palace before and things looked different in the dawn light, so he got turned around a few times trying to find the way out. He was trudging through a courtyard at the back of the palace, torturing himself with memories of just how perfect the previous night had been, when a movement caught his eyes.

A figure in black was just disappearing down the passage between two buildings, mud streaked on his cloak and his dark hair dishevelled.

Clint would have known him from a mile away. His feet immediately turned to follow, chasing after him so that he could at least say goodbye properly, and get one last kiss.

Wolf was moving fast, head down as he hurried through the palace, finding his way with complete ease. Clint thought about calling out to him but he had a horrible feeling that would only lead to him running, especially as he could see that Wolf wasn’t wearing his mask, even if he hadn’t caught sight of his face yet.

The idea of seeing what lay under Wolf’s mask made Clint’s heart leap and his footsteps speed up. They were deep in the heart of the palace now and it was going to take him forever to find his way out but he couldn’t stop chasing after Wolf. 

Wolf cut through a narrow gateway in a thick wall and Clint followed only a few feet behind.

“There you are!” said a loud voice and he stopped dead, turning to set his back to the wall where he wouldn’t be seen.

“Here I am,” agreed Wolf, sounding tired and sad in a way that made Clint’s heart hurt.

“I take it by the tone of your voice things didn’t go well, then,” said the first voice.

“Did you tell him?” asked a second voice. “C’mon, at least tell us you took a risk and told him who you are.”

“I didn’t,” said Wolf, and there was a groan of frustration from one of them. “I told him I was leaving for good,” added Wolf.

“Oh wow,” said the second voice. There was something familiar about it but Clint was too busy straining his ears for Wolf’s voice to pay attention. “You just love to hurt yourself.”

“I thought you were going to talk to him properly, Bucky,” said the first voice, sounding tired. “You can’t keep hiding forever.”

“No,” agreed Wolf, and Clint felt his heart leap because that must be his name, or some kind of nickname. Bucky. He imagined whispering it against his skin in the dead of night and, yeah. It suited him. “No more hiding. I’m just not seeing him again. It’s easier that way.”

The hell it was. There was nothing easy about any part of the last eight years, unless it was the way him and Wolf had fallen into this thing together. 

Him and Bucky.

Fuck, a name was so much more than he’d ever thought he’d have. And if he could just take a look, he’d get to see Bucky’s face as well, his forehead and cheeks, his nose. All the parts of him Clint had never seen.

He edged further along the wall, taking a breath and then ducking his head around to see what was going on.

Wolf was standing half turned towards him, so Clint had a perfect view of his profile. Holy shit, he was even more gorgeous than Clint could have imagined. His _cheekbones_, fuck, and the way his hair fell around his face now it wasn’t restrained by the mask. Clint stared for a good few seconds before he glanced at the two men he was talking to, and froze up.

Oh god. That was Prince Tony and Prince Steve. They were dressed down as if heading for a ride but even if Clint hadn’t seen them at the masquerade every year he’d still seen enough pictures to know exactly what they looked like.

And Wolf was talking to them as they were old friends. Shit, he must be even more important than Clint had guessed. He took a moment to actually pay attention to his surroundings and realised he was right in the inner part of the palace, where he definitely was not meant to be and fuck, if he got caught he was going to be in so much trouble, regardless of how expensive his clothes were.

He eased back around the corner, intending to leg it and never mention this again to anyone, not even Natasha, but his foot caught on a pebble and sent it skittering across the cobbles.

Wolf’s head flicked around immediately and he moved faster than Clint could track, pulling a knife as he ran at Clint, grabbing his shoulder and slamming him back into the wall, pressing the knife to his throat.

“What are you-!” he started to demand, then his eyes went wide. “Hawk?” he asked.

“Sorry,” wheezed Clint, trying to regain the breath Wolf had slammed out of his body. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I just, I saw you and I wanted to say goodbye properly but I didn’t realise where we were headed and then-” His eyes flickered over to the princes, who were staring at him with open curiosity. “Oh god, please don’t lock me up.”

Prince Steve snorted. “I just want to see my friend happy, I don’t think locking you up is going to manage that.”

“Right,” agreed Prince Tony snorted. “We’re not going to lock up Bucky’s star-crossed lover. What kind of enemies of true love do you think we are?”

Clint stared at him, then flicked back to look at Wolf, who had gone faintly pink. “Love?” he asked with shock, and then his brain highlighted the way Prince Steve had said _my friend._

Abruptly, he put together how easily Wolf had been talking to the princes with the knife in his hand and the protective way his stance was keeping Clint from getting anywhere near the princes. “Sir Barnes?”

Wolf dropped the hand holding the knife and took a step back. “Hawk,” he said, sounding sick with dread. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Clint stared at him. “Seriously? You’re Sir Barnes?”

Wolf looked miserable. “That’s me,” he said, and his mouth twisted unhappily. “The princes’ assassin.”

Clint couldn’t bear to hear that tone in his voice and, shit, if he’d know he wouldn’t have said all that shit last night. “I thought you were Prince Steve’s confidante?”

Prince Steve snorted. “If anything, it’s the other way around,” he said. “I’m not the one who has spent eight years pining for a mysterious stranger and whining about it every opportunity I could.”

“I’d hope not,” said Prince Tony.

This was all too much for Clint to get his head around. 

“Hey, here’s a question,” added Prince Tony, taking a step closer and squinting at Clint’s face. “Who are you? Because, I mean, I may not pay the most attention but I think I’d remember someone like you at any of my parties. Or my coronation. Or my wedding, and pretty much everyone came to that.”

“Everyone rich,” corrected Clint and then winced, because you didn’t go talking back to princes if you wanted to keep your freedom. Prince Tony just made a quiet noise as if coming to realisation, and ran his eyes over Clint in a way that made Clint uncomfortably aware of just how old this outfit was now.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

He glanced around at the three nobles and realised just how much trouble he was in, because being a nobleman in love with Prince Steve’s best friend was one thing, but being a servant who had gatecrashed a royal party and seduced a nobleman was quite another.

“Who are you?” asked Wolf - Sir Barnes - Bucky. Whatever Clint was meant to be calling him.

Clint couldn’t take it any longer. He ran, darting back through the gate as fast as he could. He heard Sir Barnes swear and then footsteps behind him and put everything he could into sprinting for freedom.

It wasn’t enough. Sir Barnes caught him before he’d made it further than a hundred feet, grabbing Clint’s shoulder and pulling him back against the wall.

Clint flinched, and a look of complete misery crossed Sir Barnes’s face. He let go and stepped away. “If you really want to run, I won’t stop you,” he said, “but please, Hawk. I can’t imagine you giving me any name that would change how I feel about you, and I swear I won’t do anything that could harm you.”

Clint looked into his eyes, tracking the sad lines of his face as if he were already expecting to have his heart broken, and thought about how he’d said he didn’t deserve this. Fuck it, if Clint told him who he was, at least Bucky would know why they couldn’t ever be together and that it had nothing to do with whatever ghosts made him think he didn’t deserve happiness. This mess was all Clint’s fault, after all.

He took a deep breath. “My name is Clint Barton.”

“Clint,” repeated Bucky softly, and he stared into his eyes. “God, Clint. Thank you.” He reached out a tentative hand and touched Clint’s cheek. “I don’t know the name,” he added. “Where are you from? Who are your family?”

Clint snorted. “I’m from the gutter,” he muttered. “I’m no one, and neither was my family. I’m-” He broke off, because Bucky was still staring at him and Clint couldn’t take it right now, watching Bucky realise just how worthless Clint was. He ducked his head, shaking off Bucky’s hand. “I’m a groom,” he admitted, staring at the cobbles. He skipped the ‘assistant’ part because, frankly, he didn’t want Bucky to know that he hadn’t even managed to move beyond that.

A light touch to his chin made him look up. “You’re not no one,” said Bucky in a low voice. “You’re everything to me. I don’t care what job you do, or who your family are.”

Clint felt his eyes fill up and had to blink it back. “Wolf,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen, we just snuck in to the masquerade once, I swear, it wasn’t going to be any more than that, and then you asked me to dance, and-”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. “And then everything.” He managed a weak smile at Clint. “I’m so glad I asked you to dance back then. I almost didn’t, I was just going to stand in the corner for an hour to get Steve to stop nagging me about having a social life, and then there was you. Standing at that buffet table, eating everything in sight like a man on a mission and just, god, looking so good.”

He took in a deep breath, letting his hand drop from Clint’s chin as Clint kept staring at him because never once, in all the times he’d imagined telling Wolf his identity, had it been that easy. “I love you,” he said, unable to keep it in any longer. “God. I can’t believe how much I love you.”

Bucky looked just as shocked as Clint felt. “You can’t,” he said. “Hawk, you don’t understand. You were right last night, I’m exactly all those things people say about me. I’m a killer.”

Clint shook his head, reaching out to take Bucky’s hand. “I don’t care what job you do,” he said. “If you’ve killed people, I reckon it would have been for good reason.”

“How did I ever get this lucky?” muttered Bucky, then backed Clint up against the wall again, this time more gently and so he could press up against him and give him a long, passionate kiss that Clint was more than happy to return.

It went on for several minutes as Clint let himself realise that this was actually happening. Wolf knew who he was and still wanted this.

There were footsteps on the cobbles and an awkwardly cleared throat, all of which Clint and Bucky ignored in favour of continuing the kiss, and then Prince Tony’s voice said, “Hey, Barnes, are you bringing your boy to breakfast?”

Prince Steve let out a long sigh. “Tony,” he muttered. “Jesus. Give them a minute, would you?”

It was too late though, Bucky had already pulled away, flushed with pleasure and grinning at Clint but still putting unnecessary distance between their lips. “You’re welcome to join us,” he said to him. “It’s just us and Sir Rhodes but he’s very relaxed, you don’t need to worry about him.”

Clint stared at his face, taking in all the perfect details that he could have spent eight years looking at. “I can’t,” he said, and looked up at the sky to see that the sun was now high enough for him to be excruciatingly late. “I should have been at work an hour ago.”

Bucky’s face fell so Clint stepped in to kiss him again because he couldn’t bear to see him sad, not when he could kiss a smile back onto his face. 

“I have to go,” he said. “When are you leaving the country? Are you sure you have to?”

There was a weird silence, during which Bucky tensed up then glanced over at Prince Steve, and Prince Tony let out a snigger but just smirked at Clint when he looked at him.

“What?” asked Clint.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I’m not leaving.”

Clint stared at him. “What?” he asked again. “Seriously? You said last night was the last night we’d be together.”

Bucky winced. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I didn’t- Listen, Hawk.” He corrected himself. “Clint. I couldn’t keep on with this, with hiding everything from you and only getting one night a year. I thought I couldn’t ever tell you the truth because no one would want to be with Prince Steve’s assassin.”

“Hey, I never asked you to kill anyone. That was all your decision,” said Prince Steve, and Bucky sent a rude gesture at him without look around.

“Oh,” said Clint. He’d spent the whole night bracing himself to have to say goodbye for no reason?

“I got sick of lying to you, and it didn’t seem like I could tell you the truth,” said Bucky, and he took Clint’s hands and squeezed them. “I’m sorry.”

Clint looked down at their linked hands and then back up at Bucky’s face. “So, we will be able to see each other next year?” he asked and beamed at him.

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, squeezing Clint’s hand. “And every year after.”

Clint grinned, then glanced at Prince Tony. “Uh, except my cover’s been blown so I can’t sneak in any more.”

Prince Tony blinked at him. “The Midsummer Masquerade is open to everyone,” he said. “That’s kinda the point of it.”

“Right,” agreed Clint, “but like, everyone who’s rich or noble, not _everyone_ everyone.”

“No, _everyone_,” said Prince Tony, then he turned to Prince Steve, “I don’t- Am I speaking another language? Is this why none of the people ever come, some kind of communication thing?”

“I did tell you a masquerade was a bad idea,” said Prince Steve.

Prince Tony threw his hands out with frustration. “It’s the perfect idea! Rich mingles with poor! No one knows who anyone is! They all get to make new friends and put aside their differences!”

Clint stared at him. “Uh. What? I don’t- You think poor folks could come along? You realise how much it costs to buy a fancy outfit, right?”

“There’s no dress code!” said Prince Tony. “The guards will let anyone wearing a mask in, regardless of the rest of their clothes. But no one ever comes, they all just keep ignoring the announcements. I just want to do something nice for my people.”

Clint thought back to the announcements and realised that they hadn’t ever mentioned a dress code. “Huh,” he said. “Well, uh. My prince,” he said, awkwardly, “may I suggest that most common people hear ‘ball at the palace’ and automatically assume they’re not invited.”

Bucky snorted a laugh. “That’s what I told him.”

“I thought it would be obvious,” muttered Prince Tony. 

Prince Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. “We’ll figure something else out for next year,” he said.

Bucky turned back to Clint and smiled at him. “And whatever it is, I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint happily.

There was a long-suffering sigh from Prince Tony. “Okay, no, this is- Just. Stop.” He stepped forward and put a hand on each of their shoulders, giving them a very long, serious look. “You guys are the worst, and I’m saying this as a guy who proposed in the middle of an argument about border patrols. You do realise that you don’t have to wait a year before hanging out again, right?”

Huh. Clint hadn’t even considered that knowing who Bucky was, and vice versa, would mean they didn’t need to wait until they could hide behind masks. It had been a long night and he was tired, he’d have worked it out soon enough.

Bucky shook the prince’s hand off. “Of course I do,” he said, and looked back at Clint. “You get days off from your job, right? Would you like to spend your next one with me? We can try actually telling each other stuff about our lives, see how that goes.”

The mention of Clint’s job made his guts freeze up. Oh god, he was _so late_, and he didn’t think ‘I was talking to two princes and making out with a nobleman’ was going to cut it as an excuse. He looked back up at the position of the sun. Yeah, the whole household would be up and the groom would already have reported that he was missing to the butler.

“I’m probably not going to have a job any more after today,” he said. “Fuck, I am so fired. And there’s no way they’ll give me a good reference.” His stomach sank as he tried to work out what he was going to do. He really did not want to have to go live with Barney’s bandit gang in the woods.

“That’s actually great timing,” said Prince Tony. “I’m looking to hire a new advisor, if you want the job? I need someone to help me work out how to have a better relationship with my people, starting with working out a new event for next midsummer that they might actually come to.”

Clint just stared at him. “What?” he asked in a cracked voice.

“The position comes with room and board at the palace,” carried on Prince Tony. “There’s a set of rooms right next to Bucky’s that are empty, for example. So you’d be able to see him every day instead of once a year.”

Clint glanced back at Bucky, who was looking at him with a wide-eyed look of hope. “Say yes,” he said, taking Clint’s hands. “Please, Clint. Say yes. I want to see you whenever I want.”

God, Clint wanted that too. He couldn’t even begin to imagine it, any of it. What the hell could he advise a prince on? How could he go from living in the stables to living in the palace? What if getting to know Bucky properly just gave Bucky a chance to realise he’d built Clint up into a better man than he was?

None of those fears mattered though, not when Bucky was looking at him like that and holding Clint’s hands just a little too tightly.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, not looking away from Bucky’s face so he could watch the happiness flow over it. “I’ll take the job.”

“Excellent,” said Prince Tony. “We’ll start-” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Bucky had swept Clint up in his arms to kiss him, backing him against the wall and taking possession of Clint’s mouth in a way that made him lose track of everything else.

“Right, of course,” said Prince Tony.

“Maybe we should go have breakfast and talk to them later,” said Prince Steve and there was the sound of footsteps moving away.

Clint ignored all of it in favour of holding on to Bucky and kissing him back.

****

The next year, instead of a Midsummer Masquerade, the palace threw open its grounds for a carnival. There was no dress code, they served ale instead of champagne and the bands played folk songs rather than fancy waltzes, and half the city flooded in to take part.

They still served the pastry things though. Clint had been very clear about that.

The highlight of the festivities was at dusk when Sir Barnes, Captain of the Princes’ Guard, married Clint Barton, Royal Advisor and former assistant groom, in the main courtyard of the palace surrounded by every strata of society.

And absolutely nobody wore a mask.


End file.
